Reverie
by Big Sister Kitty
Summary: Character study, Michel-centric. Grand ambitions can hide a fragile psyche.


**EDIT(12/31/2007):**_ Hah, I finally got myself a copy of the manga!XD Most of the grammatical and canonical errors will be cleaned up, I hope. I'll try to cut out the purple-y parts of the ficky, but not all, since this is a fangirlish piece for Michel-sama.__ Assume Michel-sama already has three sets of wings—which would make him a Seraph. (Why on earth did he start out with four wings [making him a Cherub, anyway? -.-) Oh, and that burning thing in his castle shall henceforth be addressed as "that one" or "him"—it will be confusing, but…_

It is to my regret that I have not been able to seek out a proper beta-reader for this fanfic, but I have proofread this to at least minimize any mistakes I may have made. My apologies also for the characterization, I have only watched a few episodes of _Mermaid Melody Pichi Pichi Pitch Pure_, so I'm not sure if I did Michel's personality, or the architectural aspects of his castle, right. Feel free to point out my mistakes, of course.

I must be losing my mind to have gone out of my way to write a MMPPP fanfic, but hey, when you're in puppy love… X3 Ah yes, this story was inspired by Michel and his image song, _Tsubasa wo Daite_. It's a very nice song.:)

One final note to make: this story was written under the assumption that nighttime can happen in Michel's castle-in-the-sky domain. The _Mermaid Melody Pichi Pichi Pitch_ franchise all belong to their owner/s. I am simply writing a tribute for one of my favorite characters.

**Reverie**

_Those dreams which loom,_  
_None those mortal eyes can see,_  
_Fear, Hope, wild abandon,_  
_Looses and stretches,_  
_But all hides, as one loses sight,_  
_Of consciousnesses, of existences,_  
_Blurred in whimsical flights,_  
_In a Reverie._

**-----**

Silence festered on the foundations of the ethereal fortress, a handiwork of otherworldly engineers. A great flame blazed at its heart, its burnished tongues flaring into the night sky.

A glimmer of immaculate light perched quietly on an elaborate rampart. A beautiful young man sat as its glowing core, jaded eyes pensively narrow to the point of sleepiness,.

Stray sparks crackled helplessly before his eyes until they faded into the night. Shadows stretching from the ramparts cast themselves in a lively dance.

"_**It is evening. Why don't you rest?**_"

_No._

"_**Oh? Are all heavenly vassals this curt?**_"

_What do you want?_

"_**Why nothing, little Seraph. You simply look tired.**_"

Ha!_ Do you find such amusement in degrading me? I find your so-called concern laughable._

"_**Ah.**_"

_Hmm? Why do you sound so amused?_

"_**Nothing, Seraph Michel. Nothing at all.**_"

_From the tone of your voice, I find that highly unlikely._

"_**Well now, cynical are we? You will soon become one of us.**_"

_Save your pleasantries for some other fool, Demon. My loyalties lie elsewhere._

"_**Ah, to tempt is futile then? Of course.**_"

_Fool._

Michel held out his hand, watched the shadows dance wildly against it. He spared a glance at that burning one, luminous eyes taking on a darker hue as he frowned. Fuku was away to assemble his other servants. He was inwardly pleased at the lack of company, but somehow found seclusion irritating still.

His wings pulsed, in a heartbeat he found himself reeling forward, eyes tightly shut, fists clenched in agony, pressed firmly against his chest. The Mermaid Princess, or that human's memories, or perhaps both, were struggling, crying for freedom, but quiet in their advances. Memories flooded his vision.

A quiet thought. Surfing by moonlight, listening to that ever-mysterious sea. A solemn thought. The sea is cursed for not giving up its secrets. A recurring thought. The sea taught him the virtues of patience, when little by little it gave him answers, encouraged him to search for more.

Anticipation. When new life was promised, decreed by its predecessor, bright orange eyes and a happy smile bloomed in hope. Treachery. When the life was stolen, it cried out, innocence that knew not the trials of the world. Resurrection. It is relentlessly pursued, dreams of the future are closed in, but in small, soft shards of light they slowly come out, to one day sing, and be free.

What once was and what will be. He held them both prisoners, in order to sustain a life that would otherwise be doomed to cease. He was cursed, and he knew it. His light grew dim, wrath seeped in slowly, hatred, grief, loss, and a mix of other dark emotions beat mockingly against his chest, his own memories fought against each other, clamoring for some semblance of balance, of certainty, of hope.

His breathing ragged, vision flawed so that light and shadow were indistinct. That one was silent, merely contemplated. Anger, perhaps? Or more appropriately, _confusion?_

_Shut up!_ Michel tried to stand, to balance himself, heaving, despite the risk of falling into the cloudy abyss beneath the castle. Wings forcibly opened, brought him up higher, until that one was nothing but a flickering spark in the distance, ready to be extinguished by some cosmic breath. Body trembled, hands pressed even more firmly to the incessant, heartless beating.

"_**Ah, Seraph. How goes your endeavors?**_"

_Be quiet! You have no part in this!_

"_**So you say. **_**So you say.**"

Stars shone, flared, like him, but their glows were empty, hollow. Their light burns cold, and the young, hot-white stars regard him frigidly as he flew past them, through celestial expanse.

"_Why?_" came the pained query. "Why did you have to make me like _this?_"

The universe was void of life. Heavenly spheres were active in dust and ice storms, spun about their axes, ignored the cry. Irrepressible Sol blazed fiery, haughty stars kept to themselves. Comets dashed past without so much as a glance, cosmic dust and radiation suddenly froze, lost their will to perform under supernatural conditions. Luna, the lone companion of Earth, as well as Earth herself, sighed, hid in their shadows, the moon, shy, the planet, sinful. None deigned to reply.

Jade fire burned in his light eyes. The gold of his ornaments flashed to the uncaring sun.

"_**Ha ha ha. Feeling weak, Angel?**_"

_Away with you!_

"_**Ah, but unfortunately, I cannot.**_"

"_**You summoned me, when you first let darkness cloud your heart, little Angel.**_"

You! _Unh._ He clutched at his chest. _You're the cause of this!_

"_**Furious, are we? But I have done nothing. How does it feel like, **_**Michel**_**, to be helpless? To be lost? To know **_**Fear?**"

"Get out of my head!" Palms to his temple, fingers pushing into his skull. He lifted his gaze, stared into empty space, saw stars infinitely strewn before him. He shut his eyes, tortured, tears slid from them as he gave out a silent scream, only to have it lost in the celestial vacuum.

"_**Ha ha ha! You said to find some other fool before? **_**You're**_** the fool, the pawn, the jest.**_"

**-----**

The sun mercilessly penetrated his vision as he opened his eyes. He involuntarily raised a hand to shield them, as little Fuku hovered near his head, gave him a reprimanding look. Michel stretched, languid, as he urged his throbbing body to rise. Fresh grass cushioned his back, willingly caressed his hair and wings. Dandelion seeds blew in the wind; wildflowers raised their bright petals, like lips kissing the sunlight.

_What?_ He ran a hand through his hair, drank in the sun's rays, curiously surveyed the area. The sky was the clear blue of a happy morning, clouds wispy and light, like feathers scattered across silk. He entirely ignored Fuku, who was chattering incessantly about something or the other. The meadow stretched far beyond his vision, all green and gold with life, lovingly crafted, serenely beautiful, utterly fragile. He knew this wouldn't last, as all the accursed inhabitants of this world were inclined to destroy ancient beauty.

A heartbeat.

"_**How goes things, Angel?**_"

…

"_**Confused? That is natural.**_"

Michel heaved in a breath, completely unsure of anything. He placed a palm to his forehead, his wings clung recumbently to his aquiline form, loyal and yielding. There was no pain.

A cold, airy hand shot out from behind him, smooth, chilly fingers stroked his cheek, held it playfully. Everything stilled. Fuku faded away, echoing, as if he was never there.

"_**Rest.**_"

It was soothing. He nodded despite himself, felt drowsy.

"_**Rest.**_"

Was that a chuckle? Sun-warmth vanished. Small icy darts pricked at his flesh.

"_**Rest. You are tired, no?**_"

_Tired_, he repeated in his head, shuddered. A chill crept up to him, purred at his shoulders, blew from behind his head, ran down his spine. His wings, the souls and memories trapped within him, all stirred, frightened. Worried.

_Fly…away…?_ He tried to stretch his wings. They were cold, stiff, as if frozen. He didn't want to fly.

"_**Rest.**_" The voice was firm, insistent, alluring.

The unborn soul cried out, tried to sing, tried to lead him away. The human was adamant, gave strength, wanted to leave, to escape. Both sensed fear.

"**Rest.**" It was demanding.

_N—no._

"_**Sleep, little Angel. Close your eyes. Let yourself go.**_"

_You…will you…_

"_**Hear me. Don't you find it tempting? Sleep. Rest.**_"

_You…_

"_**The cosmos was shaped by your master. But **_**I**_** will rule it.**_"

_Ah…!_

"_**Does it hurt? Pain is natural, young Seraph. Perfectly natural.**_"

_Ungh… You…_

"_**Yes?**_"

_You…_

"_**Speak, little one. Release the remaining fragments of your will. Surrender them.**_"

_You, agh…you shut up!_"

"**What?**"

_I won't give in._ It sounded weak.

"_**Oh? Will you continue to struggle? It won't be long before you fall.**_"

_Shut up—argh!_

"_**Agony is sweet, Angel. The inevitable will come.**_"

_I said, _shut up!

"_**A matter of time, Angel. I didn't live for eons for nothing, boy.**_"

_Shut…shut…up…_ He pulled away from the frosty hold, struggled to fly. The world dimmed once again. In the background, he heard mocking laughter, shook as his knees and palms hit the grass.

_Shut up…_

**-----**

A haunting melody echoed through salty sea air, its gloomy tones winding their way among waves of water, moving in rhythm to the moon's decree. Here Michel flew, letting sad words resonate in song, somehow finding in himself to look at the scornful deep blue sea where the faery beings had enough impudence to associate themselves with humans.

_Hmph._ He scowled at the lights near the harbor, how they glistened from lamps and windows, at the pieces of garbage littered on the shore, at the boats impertinently floating on the sea, a proclamation of the attempt humans had made to subdue nature.

The Mermaid Princesses will have their due, in time. He felt tired, having been brought here by the compulsion of his captives, to look at this sapphire-hued sea that looked even darker than the night when shadows danced, that was even more mysterious than the endless aquamarine sky.

He alighted on a rock that jutted at a good height above the sea, where he could get a clear view of the moonset and the approaching sunrise. He ended the cheerless euphony, took out his sun-gold flute, and paid homage to the full silver moon.

Fog rolled in the distance, taking on a myriad of hazy contours. The notes halted here, peeled in layers as they moved through the fog, until only a low note stayed, traveled beyond. And those who listen cannot understand the music, not because they stand wistfully on the shore or hopefully on the deck of a ship far from its native port, but because the fog hides it, and the relentless, derisive laughter echoes eternally to quell the ancient melodies.

Hope, say the faery and human children whose destinies lie in the sea, will come unexpectedly for them, and for the heavenly vassal.

**-----**

_But for sleepless dreams and hope unseen,_  
_Light flickers, like fire, like stars,_  
_Quietly, it watches, waits,_  
_Stilling hearts, singing sweet songs,_  
_Being of heaven, or perhaps, child of dreams?_  
'_Tis good fancy, 'tis fervent voyage,_  
_Timeless, infinite, like the sky,_  
_But hidden, faery-like,_  
_That is a Reverie._

**-----**

Yep, I wrote the poems myself, though I never cared to put rhyme and meter into them. I believe that the best poems are more substance than song, although they might have been a lot more fun to read if they rhymed, huh? It's my loss, I guess.

Scientifically, only low notes can pass through fog, which is why a certain father with a piano-playing daughter went out and invented a foghorn.:D Just in case you wanted to know.

_Whew, what was that—some kind of semi-conscious discourse with one's inner demons? Got me, I'm just happy to write about Michel-sama._


End file.
